


"A Problem for Another Generation of Demigods"

by r1ptides



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Gen, Heroes of Olympus rewrite, HoO minus problematic things, Percy and Annabeth's kid replaces them in the seven
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:48:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24831124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r1ptides/pseuds/r1ptides
Summary: “I guess you’re right… or maybe the prophecy won’t happen for years.”“Could be a problem for another generation of demigods,” I agreed. “Then we can kick back and enjoy.”In which the Prophecy of the Seven is a problem for a new generation of demigods, but the fates aren’t kind to Percy and Annabeth Jackson’s lineage.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Jason Grace/Piper McLean
Comments: 15
Kudos: 91





	1. A Peaceful Life

_ “I guess you’re right… or maybe the prophecy won’t happen for years.” _

_ “Could be a problem for another generation of demigods,” I agreed. “Then we can kick back and enjoy.” _

Annabeth curses over and over again in her hospital room. She tries to stick to ancient Greek for six year old Estelle’s sake, but a couple  _ fucks _ slip out. Annabeth is too focused on going into labor to apologize to Sally.

She squeezes on Percy’s hand, which she doubts he feels the pain of what with that mark of Achilles and all. If it was anyone else’s hand, it would surely be broken.

One scatterbrained doctor seems to notice this, staring in amazement as Annabeth’s husband’s hand doesn’t crush under her strength. She’d like to scream at him to focus, to get her child out of her.

On February 7th at 2:30pm, a girl is born. Big gray eyes stare back at Annabeth.

“I’m an aunt!” Estelle shrieks, pushing past Percy. 

They’d talked about names for months, both boy and girl, as they hadn’t wanted to know the gender. Annabeth had made lists upon lists, showing all of their friends and family to discuss. Now, peering down at their daughter, of both godly and human blood like them, she knows which. 

“Atalanta,” she tells Percy. “Attie for short.”

Percy nods, tears flowing freely. “She has your eyes.”

Their philosophy had been similar to Sally’s. Names manifest destinies, or at least the ones they hope for. Atalanta had been strong, and unlike some stories like to mention, intelligent. A warrior, just in case their daughter needed to be.

Annabeth had been worried out of her mind about the sleepless nights that might interrupt work, or that she just wouldn’t know how to be a parent. Her own weren’t too good at it. 

But Percy was born to be a dad. With him by her side, Attie’s infancy goes as smoothly as someone with Percy’s genes could.

Sally drives them back to their home, a cottage overlooking the sound. It may not seem like a great foundation for a house, but the sea could never bring the Jacksons harm. It stands alone from the other adult demigods houses, all scattered around other fields. 

Attie’s a hit at Camp Half-Blood. After a few days, Percy and Annabeth present their daughter to the other couple hundred demigods. 

“You’re the godfather,” Percy tells Grover as he hands Attie over, one night in their house.

“Huh?” Grover asks.

“A thing the Christians do. Her spiritual guardian, or something.”

Grover smiles. “I’ll do my best.”   
  


Attie goes to a normal school, like most kids, a public school in Suffolk county. Percy teaches in another district. Annabeth works for an architecture firm in Queens. And every night they all return up Half-Blood Hill to their home.

Percy and Annabeth had more kids, next a set of twins. A boy and a girl. Elpis (a nod to Hestia and the events of the war) and Charles (an old friend who died in said war). Attie was five when they were born, and proved to be a great sister.

And finally, another boy. Alex. Just Alex. Between all of the rest having nicknames, Attie for Atalanta, Charlie for Charles, El for Elpis, Percy said the last should just have an easy name. Growing up as  _ Perseus _ and even  _ Annabeth _ hadn’t been so easy. Especially during attendance. 

Percy asks for one more kid so they can be  _ The Jackson 5. _ Annabeth says no.

Annabeth doesn’t have any physical powers to pass on, while Percy has numerous. They’ve been told from Chiron, although very few demigods live to have children, she may not have as strong a bloodline to the gods as most half-bloods, although there was Percy being a Big Three kid to take into account. 

Annabeth’s okay with that. No powers. No blowing talking to pegasi, earthshaking, or blowing up the plumbing.

Of course with Annabeth’s luck, Attie does blow up the plumbing when she’s angry she lost Jenga at the age of eight. Wonderful. Percy is thrilled.

Luckily, it’s confirmed that’s all she can do. Annabeth hopes the other three are normal.

Attie fits right into the new generation of campers. She rises amongst the ranks as the best sword fighter of the children. Her weapon is, much to everyone’s amusement, one of those little fidget spinners. A spin one way turns it into a long, celestial bronze blade. The hilt is carved into the shape of an owl. A spin the other way turns it into an even longer spear, one with three sharp tips. A trident. Crafted in the depths of the sea by none other than her favorite uncle, Tyson. (Not that anyone really compares, she can’t stand uncle Triton.)

She’s a tall girl, muscular from years of training. Her hair is long and untamable, pitch black as her fathers. Her eyes match those of Cabin 6, a stormy gray. She has her father’s complexion, an olive skin tone, Greek, like Percy and Poseidon. Her features are a mix of the both. She has Annabeth’s upturned nose, Percy’s strong jawline. 

She’s fifteen, the ringleader of her siblings. El and Charlie are five years behind, both blonde and hyper, eager to follow in their sister’s footsteps. She’s a prodigy, and they hope to be as well.

And three years behind them is Alex. Much like Annabeth these days, he prefers to read, snuggled up in his mother’s lap, watching his father splash water at his siblings.

It’s a peaceful life.

Attie takes a liking to Maia Stoll, Katie and Travis’ daughter. Maia looks like a perfect combination of her parents, their similar light brown hair, heterochromia making one eye Katie’s leafy green, the other Travis’ icy blue, as if Hermes and Demeter had fought over who the child got to look like.

Freckles litter her face, most dense of the bridge of her nose. Her brown hair is braided with daisies from outside the Stolls cottage, and she does the same to Attie’s hair. 

It’s almost Christmas, and Camp is covered in festivities. Attie has been bouncing up and down all week about the approaching Winter break. Weeks off of school, visiting Grandma Sally, Grandpa Paul, Aunt Esty, and whatever extravagant gift Poseidon would spoil her with this year (please not another pegasus).

Annabeth wakes up to Percy shaking her. It’s odd, he always lets her sleep until the last minute until she needs to leave for work. He makes the lunches, gets the kids up, organizes his things.

His face has sweat running down it, his green eyes wide in fear. 

Maia Stoll is also in her room, somehow. It’s not everyday you wake up to your nervous wreck of a husband and daughter’s girlfriend crying.

“Attie- she’s gone.”

  
  



	2. Taken

The whole camp is on lockdown, searching for their daughter.

There’s no way she would run away, no reason at all. There is no danger within camp, and nothing that could get past Percy and Annabeth’s view.

Percy wastes no time getting on Blackjack towards Manhattan.

This must be someone’s meddling. 

He pushes past mortals in the lobby, making his way to the front desk. It’s been years since he’s been up to Olympus. There’s no reason anymore. His father is under the sea, Hestia tends a fire at camp, there is no one else he’d really like to see ever again.

The security guard isn’t the bald man from all those years ago. It’s a younger guy, lounging back, tapping away at his phone.

“I need to go to the 600th floor,” Percy states, knocking roughly on the desk to get the guy’s attention.

The guy almost cracks a smile, but resumes a straight face. “Sorry pal, no 600th floor.”

Gods, this guy sucked at his job. Percy has no qualms about what he was about to do. It’s his daughter,  _ his baby. _ He isn’t screwing around with this little asshole all day.

He reaches over the desk, grabbing the guy by his shirt collar. The smartphone falls to the floor, shattering.

“Should’ve gotten a screen protector,” Percy shrugs, tightening his grip. The guy lost any smug look he had prior. “You can give me the key card, or I can strangle you and get it myself. I don’t care if you’re mortal or not.”

“I’ll get it, I’ll get it!” the guy pleads.

The elevator ride feels like eons. 

And finally, he arrives.

Olympus has lost any mysticism and feeling of paradise it used to have.

The minor gods stop going about their business when he arrives. They hush, they turn, they point. 

He isn’t supposed to be here.

Yet none of them stop him.

He storms into the throne room.

It’s empty.

Tearing down Olympus “brick by brick” as Luke once said is looking rather appealing.

His father’s palace is quiet. Amphitrite has always been kind to him, and she is sorry to say she cannot tell him where his father is, as she doesn’t know herself.

“If I see him, I will tell him to contact you. I’m sorry, Perseus.”

Triton looks on smugly, and it takes Percy everything in him to swim on and not skewer his half brother. 

The world is a big place, even bigger than humans know. And his daughter could be anywhere.

Every passing second is one in which she could be hurt.

Even Hestia is not at Camp. Dionysus is gone. The Olympians are silent.

And his daughter is missing.

Searching within the camp becomes futile. They cover every square inch, and no Attie. Annabeth holds her three other children in her arms, stroking each of their backs as they all cry together. Annabeth tries to appear strong, but it’s no use. Something is brewing. A war, perhaps, someone with a vengeance against either Poseidon, Athena, the Camp, or Percy and Annabeth personally.

Annabeth begins to pray. 

First to Poseidon. Out of all of the gods, he cares most for their child. The past decade he defied many rules to see their children. Next, Athena. Athena has seen the children a few times. Not much emotion there, per usual, but maybe she could help. 

Then Leto, goddess of motherhood, protector of the young. 

She senses that none of her prayers were received, just as IMs had failed to work.

Percy hasn’t been going to work. He calls in sick, and he certainly sounds the part. He does everything in his reach to be out, searching. The gods are MIA, the very ones who probably have a part in Attie’s disappearance. 

It’s hard to ask, but he needs to. The answer gives him relief, Nico hasn’t seen her in his father’s realm.

On the second day, Annabeth swallows her pride and prays to Hera. She should’ve thought to do so earlier, but it was easy to forget Hera was a goddess of motherhood and family considering she could be so cruel to Annabeth. She’s at the end of her rope, maybe Hera was watching and would help a fellow mother. Maybe.

She appears in Annabeth’s dreams. Her eyes are cold, and she is ten feet tall. A peacock the size of Mrs. O’Leary is at her feet.

“Hera,” Annabeth addresses her.

Hera waits. One second, two, three.

Annabeth kneels, a tear slipping down her cheek.

If her sixteen year old self could see her now, she would be infuriated, throwing a hissy fit that in twenty years she would even think to kneel before  _ this _ goddess. The one who left cow shit in her path on a daily basis. 

But her sixteen year old self could not possibly comprehend what it means to be a mother. 

“Ask,” Hera says, craning her giant neck to look down.

“How do I find my daughter?”

“Go to the Grand Canyon, tomorrow at noon. The boy with one shoe will bring about the answers you seek.”

Annabeth wants to ask more, to say more. More prophetic bullshit, Hera isn’t normally this eloquent. 

The dream is fading.

“Thank you, Lady Hera,” she manages. The only Olympian within contact is her least favorite, but perhaps being in her good graces will help. And right now, she’ll take any help she can get.

  
  



End file.
